Reinvention
by TouchedBytheAngel
Summary: Derek and Stiles are both actors in a busy world. One needs a character boost, and the other needs to realize how talented he is. Can they help each other?


**Actor!AU Pilot**

**Notes: The centre-styled font is my signature format, readers. If this bothers too many people, I can change it, of course. It's just a way I have of…preserving a piece of my individuality. :)**

**Disclaimer: All characters, incidents, plots and vocabularies may or may not be entirely intentional. Reader discretion is advised. No, I'm kidding, please jump right in.**

**Chapter One**

"They want you for the part."

Stiles sat back in his chair, the canvas-on-wood creaking slightly. "Logan would be better."

"Aw, come on," Melissa, his agent, smiled. "You'd be great! It looks fun; there'll be a whole new crowd of people…"

"Yeah, I know what kind of crowd to expect," Stiles muttered. Thoughts of Jackson Whittemore, Erica Reyes and Boyd (Just Boyd, thank you very much, he'd say,) passed through his head unwelcomed. Fancy names, equally fancy houses, and majorly stuck-up attitudes.

Melissa bent to lean down, resting her hands on the young man's shoulders. "Stiles, you didn't come from money. Not a reason for anyone to act like an asshat about it. You're just as good an actor, and I'd wager you're a good deal more likeable. _The Common Denominator _looks like an awesome boost."

A faint smile tugged at Stiles' mouth. "And here I thought you were trying to soften me up."

"Lydia will be in the area," Melissa added.

Stiles could not resist an eye-roll. "Are you using her as an incentive or a deterrent?"

His agent cracked a smile and stood up. "Last I heard, you were just good friends."

"Everyone says that after a rejection of such epic proportions."

"It wasn't epic," Melissa soothed.

"You're right-it just plain sucked," Stiles folded his arms.

"You're twenty-two, Stiles; don't be a kid about this." Melissa coached.

"What's the schedule?"

"Four months of shooting, one month for publicity and advertising for a five-episode series," his agent replied.

Stiles flipped through the script pages. "Who's my co-star going to be?"

"I am _not _working with him," Derek snapped, tossing the script to the side.

Peter sighed. "You've told me on multiple occasions that you wanted to work with this director!"

"Yes. This _director,_" Derek bit out. "Not a gawky boy whose sole purpose is to look pretty and make some minor character developments."

"That's harsh," Peter sniffed. "He still got that one role over you before."

Derek scowled. "Only because I was considered too old for the part."

Peter smirked openly. "Your age is catching up with you. And as for _boy, _Stiles is only six years your junior."

"Obviously enough to put him into a role I'm too old for," Derek pointed out.

"Derek, Stilinski is a good actor. He's likeable-"

"And massively insecure-" Derek interrupted.

"_And, _on top of that," his agent continued staunchly, "working with him could reinvent your image as a…" he trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Just go ahead and say it," Derek put in shortly. "It could perhaps, through some fanciful chain of events, reinvent my image as a _nice _person."

"Well, you have been a bit prickly," Peter shrugged.

"For the past twelve years," Derek said flatly. "I highly doubt one actor will change all that."

"Just give him a chance," Peter's tone wasn't really a suggestion. "And stop being such a diva."

Derek ignored him, but he picked up the script booklet and began reading once Peter had left the room.

Stiles grabbed a coffee, (a Mocha-Cookie-Crumble, because screw it, he was a skinny twenty-two-year old and he could,) and went to meet his best friend Scott McCall. Scott's career had gradually soared over the past three years, and it was no secret that things were serious between him and his girlfriend Allison Argent.

"Have you proposed yet?" Stiles enquired with feigned impatience.

Scott blushed and sipped his macchiato. "Dude, I'm twenty-two. I have time!"

"Everyone thinks they have time-until they don't," Stiles warned.

Scott rolled his eyes. "Stiles, relax. Anyone would think it was you doing the proposing. Speaking of, are you hoping to find some beautiful stranger to whisk away at my wedding?" He teased.

Stiles smirked and slurped the last of his coffee through his straw. "Nope. I'm a lone wolf, man. I will remain forever celibate. I got crap to do."

"Like finding someone?"

Stiles tossed his empty cup into the outdoor trash can. "No. Working with Derek Hale."

Scott's eyes went wide and he leaned forward in his chair. "What? Really?!"

Stiles looked at his fingers, fidgeting now that they had no coffee cup to hold. "Yeah. I don't know if he'll take the part, though. I'm a bit below his pay grade."

Scott lightly punched his shoulder. "Hey. You're just as good an actor as any of them. And you got the part, dude!" His face is so excited that Stiles couldn't help smiling a little.

"Yeah, well, I was still second choice. First guy was a friend of Derek's, actually. He had a boating accident while practicing for the part and…well. He's out of commission for awhile."

"Man, I should be sorry, and I am." Scott looked at him with a grin. "I'm sorry he got hurt, but this was so perfect for you."

Stiles nodded. "Thanks, bro."

"And, if he gives you crap, just call me and I'll settle him." Scott smirks.

Stiles relaxed under the light banter. "Thanks, but my dad _is _a sheriff. I think I've picked up a thing or two."

"Well, every policeman needs some backup from time to time," Scott crumpled his cup, aiming for the trash can. He missed and Stiles chuckled.

"I'll be the Batman to your Robin."

"_What?" _ Scott hastily got up and threw away the offending object. "I am never Robin."

Stiles got up, pulling on his jacket. It was his old one with the zipper he hated. "Keep telling yourself that."

He waved to Scott as he climbed onto his motorcycle, closing his eyes momentarily to feel the autumn breeze go over his skin.

_Okay. Five part series. Derek Hale. I can totally do this._

He stepped off the pavement in the direction of his car and started as another screeched and then honked angrily.

"Sorry!" He called.

He half expected the person to get out of their car and start yelling at him by the look on their face, but apparently it was thankfully too much effort, and they drove on huffily. Stiles crossed the street _after _looking both ways this time.

_Also, let's try not to get too caught up in it._

It would be sadly ironic to die that way.

Stiles checked his phone as he sat outside his apartment. The dying light from the sunset illuminated the windows, making him squint. His head was full, (well, it almost always was,) concerned with details, and for some reason he procrastinated on getting out until finally the glare of the setting sun shone directly on his phone screen, and he put it down with a sigh. As a child, he'd had severe ADHD and sometimes when he tried to focus is still affected him. He swung his door open and got out, listening for the satisfying click of the doors locking.

His apartment stood rigidly in the crisp Washington air; he had faint hopes of it snowing later, but hopes like that usually ended up getting killed. He'd been living here for two years now, since moving from California, where he'd grown up. His dad's house was always open to him, and he visited all the time. But yet, it still didn't feel the same anymore. He felt sometimes like fame had corroded him slowly; until he just didn't value things like what house he was staying, or if the film set held any memories for him. He always left them sooner or later anyway, and getting attached to them just added unnecessary pain.

As he rode the elevator to his floor, a thought struck him and he pulled out his phone again to text Melissa. _Where are we filming?_

The button at the top of the door _dinged! _And he stepped out, moving by habit to where his door was. He fished out his keys, which was easy since only owned, like, three. The one to his apartment, the one to his car and the one to his dad's house. He could never decide if that showed simple tastes or if his key ring should be more impressive. He never really thought of it long enough to care.

He sighed in relief as he shut the door behind him, shutting the world out with it. Calling his father was in order, and then a shower sounded really fantastic. Personally, he really wanted to just fall face-downwards onto his bed and process everything that the day had brought on, but that wasn't a luxury he had. Pulling out his all-powerful-all-necessary phone (Or Marvin, as he called it,) he dialled Sheriff Stilinski's cell number and waited for it to pick up.

"Stiles! Hey, kiddo." His dad sounded oddly happy. Stiles wondered in the back of his mind if he had a date or something.

"Hey, dad. How are things down at the station?" He ran his fingers through his hair absently, glad he'd been letting it grow out.

"Well, we have a missing girl this week who disappeared after a party, and an older man who was stabbed."

"Huh. Did he live?"

"Yep. It was a wound to the side, just above the hipbone. He's in the hospital now, but he's fine."

"Ah. Awesome." He smiled. "So, uh, dad. I got sort of good news, and sort of bad news."

"I think I can guess what the bad news is," his dad chuckled.

"Oh, really? What?" Stiles smirked. _No way he's going to guess right._

Predictions like that had a way of going spectacularly wrong in Stiles' history.

"You're gonna work with Derek Hale."

"What?! Dad, how'd you know? Did Melissa tell you?" Stiles flopped onto his bed, but allowed his phone the mercy of resting on his chest instead of crushed under his belly.

"No, son; Scott told me."

"Of…course he did," the younger man groaned. "What else did he say?"

"He said you looked pretty nervous when you were talking about it."

"I don't know, dad." He sat up, positioning the phone precariously on his shoulder as he pulled off his shoes. "I'm not scared of working with the guy, really. It's just that I want this to do well, and it won't if…"

"Stiles. I'm sure Melissa and Scott have already told you this, so I'm going to complete the triad." His dad pulled in a breath. "You're going to be great. I don't know all that much about this role, but I have a feeling you'll own it if you want to. Stop worrying about all that 'Am I worthy' crap and just _do it._"

"Wow, dad. You're using Nike now?" Despite his sarcastic tone, the reassurance was calming.

"I'll use whatever the hell I need to in order to show you that I'm proud of whatever you do."

Stiles paused, letting the phone slip back into his hand, a shoe poised in the other. "Everything I do?"

"Well, I mean, there are limits. Like, don't smoke pot. I wouldn't exactly be proud if you did that."

"Please, dad," Stiles scoffed, a grin spreading over his face. "Pot is _so _the seventies."

"Well, drugs in general and/or excessive amounts of alcohol. Don't sleep around. Don't swear too much. Brush your _teeth-_"

"God, dad, what are you; my new mother?" Stiles rolled his eyes. "I always brush my teeth!"

"In the mornings?"

"…At least once a day. And how's your diet?" He fired back as last resort.

"Going fine; I haven't eaten a burger in two weeks."

"I'm immensely proud."

"Good. And I'll be of you."

Stiles expelled a deep breath. He liked to think it held all the pent up nervousness and anticipation. "Thanks, dad…"

"You got it, kiddo. Talk later?"

"Yeah, 'course," he smiled.

"I love you."

"Love you too, _dad_."

"What, is that not cool now?"

"No." Stiles was grinning, finally. His dad heard it on the other end of the line and smiled in relief. "I'm just not cool enough for _it_."

His father laughed and hung up with a gentle _click!_

After his shower, Stiles dried his hair with his favourite fluffy towel, (the one that made it stick up everywhere,) and pulled out Pad Thai from the fridge.

_How very urban of me. _He couldn't help smiling slightly at the thought as he pulled out a fork to stab at the flavourful noodles.

His phone chirped about five bites in and he set his fork down. He neglected, however, to wipe the oil from his fingers and dropped his phone on the floor. Swearing, he picked it up and thanked whatever deity had inspired someone to invent the Otter Box case. Was their last name actually Otter or did they just like them? Maybe they wrote a book called _The Sign of the Otter_? Focus, Stilinski. He shook himself and checked his text messages. Melissa had replied.

_Paradise, California_

Stiles looked at the message in silence a few moments, caught between a smile and a frown. He knew the area like the back of his hand; of course he did. He could go see his dad, though the area would be too far away from his house to stay there. But it was also where he'd spent a very uncomfortable time in high-school, and been ridiculed 'til the day he'd left. It wasn't like he'd been the smartest or strongest or biggest person there, but why _him_? Why had they all seemed to have made the unanimous decision to make his life as miserable as possible? His acting career had started from an inborn desire to get away. Anywhere else. Just not there.

He realized at some point that he had gone off-topic and was heading into dangerous territory. He was here now, away from that, just like he'd wanted. A few of the people he'd gone to school with had even joined him in the actor's role; Lydia Martin, for one. His act with _her _had been something he'd harboured since third grade, and it was only a few years ago when her ultimate final word came and it turned out she had been dating Jackson for years. It was childish and he felt embarrassed at himself for it, but eventually he'd learned to just…move on.

Wiping the oil from the phone's casing, he returned to his noodles. Fortunately the food was _intended _to be served cold, because he'd wasted enough time mulling over the past.

The present was here, and included in it were Derek Hale, a five part series, and half a bowl of Pad Thai.

Pad Thai is easy. Acting could be mastered. But a _person?_

Stiles hoped he was up to the challenge.

**Meta Notes:**

**Stiles lives in Washington because he was originally intended to be staying in New York. However, since that's all the way across the country and I wanted him to retain his canonical birth place, he lives in the closer area.**

**The book ****_The Sign of the Otter _****is just a humorous playoff of ****_The Sign of the Beaver, _****written by Elizabeth Speare.**

**The director Glenn Davies is fictitious, but is intended in some ways to resemble Peter Jackson.**

**The "Logan" mentioned at the beginning is Logan Lerman; an award-winning actor close in age to Stiles, making him a good candidate for a friend. **

**The role Stiles won over Derek was Stuart from The Internship. XD**


End file.
